


Why It's A Good Thing Cas Is Bossy When He's Sick And Injured

by IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Guess We're Dating Now, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mother Hen Dean Winchester, Oops I Called You Babe, Sick Castiel (Supernatural), Sickfic, Wendigo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt/pseuds/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt
Summary: ...or Dean never would have made a move.Cas goes missing on a hunt and Dean is forced to look for him while trying to balance his own feelings toward the ex-angel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 229





	Why It's A Good Thing Cas Is Bossy When He's Sick And Injured

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amanita_princeps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanita_princeps/gifts).



> Disclaimer, I do not own this or anything, yada yada, hope you enjoy! :)

Dean knew they shouldn’t have taken the hunt.

Sam was out of action with a sprained knee, of all things, and Cas still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of being human. Or, well, he could handle being a normal human but hunting was still a bit beyond him. He was still weak from his stint living on the streets, as it had barely been a week since Dean wised up, cast the angel out of his little brother, and brought Cas back to the bunker.

They shouldn’t have taken the hunt, because Dean was in fucking Arkansas, camping at Buffalo River and searching frantically for any sign of the wendigo that had been chowing down on summer vacationers.

And Cas had been missing for a day and a half.

Which meant that that son of a bitch had snatched a still weakened Cas right out from under Dean’s nose, and Dean was just about ready to burn heaven and hell alike to get him back.

“Please,” he begged the park ranger, his already thin cover of being from the National Fish and Wildlife Service falling away completely. “Please, my partner is gone, and I  _ need  _ you to tell me, are there  _ any _ other systems of caves in the park?”

The ranger, a wizened old man who rather looked as though he’d spent his entire life being baked by the sun on the river, glared at him. “Sir, it’s after dark. All of our trails are closed, and I’m about to shut down the ranger station. Once he’s been missing for forty-eight hours, you can file a missing persons report. Now please return to your campsite.”

Dena, thoroughly unhappy and half out of his mind with worry, returned to the campsite and the little two-person tent Cas had been so excited to try out.

Dean had been perfectly willing to get a motel room in town, but Cas had been enthused about the chance to experience real camping, and who was Dean to deny him? Cas had looked so adorable with his cheeks flushed with excitement as he’d talked animatedly. Dean wanted to give him the world, and if all he could manage was a camping trip, then so be it. At some point, Dean reflected, he was gonna have to tell the angel how he felt. Just in case one of them never made it back from a hunt.

He sat down at the campsite’s rusted picnic table and cracked open a beer, mentally reviewing every sinkhole, cave system, and suspicious area he’d already searched.

He saw a woman with two young children walk past his campsite, and waved a hand in greeting. She nodded back, looking harried. The smaller of the two kids, dangling off of her hand, was setting up a constant stream of babble. “Why d’you think they call it Skull Rock? How come the current goes into those weird holes? Do beavers live down there?”

Dean perked up and called out to the woman. “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m sorry, where is this Skull Rock?”

She looked at him tiredly as the older child started running around in the road, chasing after fireflies. “Put in down by campsite thirteen and float maybe ten minutes. It’s on the far side of the bank, can’t miss it.” Then she kept walking.

Dean started to pack up all their gear; he wanted a quick getaway in case Cas was in critical condition.

***   
Apparently, Dean could, in fact, miss it. After pacing the bank in that general area for nearly an hour and shining his flashlight grumpily across the river, he noticed that the massive outcropping was actually almost directly across from him. “Figures,” he grumbled, and, taking off his boots, began wading.

He made it to the other side of the river with his boots and weapons relatively dry, and the rest of him soaking wet. He’d never actually had to lug a flamethrower across a river before, and wasn’t looking forward to repeating the experience.

He shone his flashlight toward where the river disappeared under the rock. There was enough room between the bottom of the rock and the water for people to swim in, and there was a large boulder mostly submerged in the center of the sheltered area. Behind the boulder, leading back into the cliff face, were two holes that looked like eyes.

Dean supposed if you were looking at it from the other side of the river, the two holes plus the boulder would look like the eyes and nose of a skull, hence the name.

Sighing and praying that his flashlight was waterproof, he struck out for the first of the two holes. The water was about six feet deep, so he could hold his weapon over his head, but the undercurrent pulled at him, threatening to knock him over.

The first cave ended roughly fifteen feet back, and contained a few sticks. Dean wrote it off as a dead end and moved to the next one.

The next one contained an angry beaver, who was not pleased with Dean for invading its home. Dean beat a hasty retreat and clambered out of the water on the gravel bar next to the giant Skull Rock.

Then he noticed a tiny groove in the rock, barely large enough for a grown man to pass through, that seemed to lead upwards into the rock instead of down to the water.

Jackpot.

Hoisting his flamethrower up and doing his best to remain silent, he scrambled up the steep incline, hands slipping on sand and pebbles as he hurried. About ten feet off the ground, the path leveled out and revealed a tall, thin cave opening.

Evidently, Skull Rock was hollow.

He edged into the opening and moved ten, twenty, thirty feet forward.

After a sharp right turn and a sudden drop in elevation, Dean stumbled across Cas. He was tied up with his arms above his head, the rope binding his hands together wrapped around a jagged limestone outcropping.

He hung limply, a trail of blood trickling sluggishly from a cut on his temple down his neck. One of his shoulders looked dislocated, and Dean wondered how hard and long Cas had struggled.

His wrists were rubbed raw, trickling blood, and his eyes moved frantically behind his eyelids as he thrashed mindlessly in the bonds.

Behind him stood the wendigo, trailing the tip of one claw down Cas’ ribcage, licking the blood from his neck.

Dean was suddenly extraordinarily pissed off.

“Hey!” he shouted, praying the wendigo would move out from behind Cas so he could shoot flame at it.

It did. It lunged around Cas at Dean, who flung it into the side of the cave with a well-placed kick. Then he hoisted the flamethrower, and took great pleasure in the monster’s squeals as it went up in a horrific blaze.

Once he was sure the wendigo would never get up again, Dean rushed over to Cas and started sawing at the ropes holding him still.

“D’n,” Cas slurred, not opening his eyes as Dean gently lifted him down and peeled the bloody ropes off of him.

“Yeah, it’s me. Come on, let’s get you to the campsite.”

“Y’ c’me.”

“‘Course I came, man, now come on, can you walk?”

Cas could walk, but not very well. He stumbled along beside Dean, one arm thrown over his shoulders for support. Together, they navigated the warren of tunnels and did a perfunctory sweep for other survivors.

They didn’t find any that were recognizable as human.

“Okay,” Dean said, trying not to think about how easily he could have been too late, how that could be Cas lying there twisted and helpless, screaming even in death, with his entrails spread across the entire area.

Dean couldn’t think that. He couldn’t lose Cas. That would be as bad as losing Sam.

“Okay,” he said again. “We’re gonna get to the car, and I’m gonna get us a motel room, and I’m gonna take care of you.”

***

Cas was not a good patient.

Dean dragged him into the hotel shower, stripped him down, and washed the blood off of him, cleaning his various cuts and wounds. Then he’d dried him off and gruffly told him to brace himself as Dean reset his dislocated shoulder.

The gasping whimper Cas let out when Dean popped it back into place was somehow worse than if he’d screamed. The soft sound nearly tore his heart out. Dean had led him over to sit on the bed, stitched the cuts that needed stitching, and pronounced that Cas had a mild concussion.

Cas did not want to stay awake, but Dean insisted on it. “You’re concussed,” he said, fluttering around the bed with a damp washcloth. “It’s for your own safety.”

“What I am is tired, and I would very much like to sleep,” Cas said mulishly, crossing his arms and nestling back into the pillows. Dean pointedly did not think about how adorable he looked.

“Nope,” he answered, pushing a glass of water into Cas’ hand. “Drink up, you’re dehydrated.”

Dean hustled off to take a shower of his own after giving Cas stern instructions to stay awake and call for him if he noticed any changes, to which Cas grudgingly agreed.

When he returned, he discovered that Cas had discovered how to use Sam’s patented puppy dog eyes, and Dean found himself capitulating. “Okay, fine. If you were gonna have any major symptoms they’d have shown up by now. Get some rest.”

Cas snuggled down into the blankets and sighed in contentment.

A few minutes later, he turned over.

He kicked at the blankets.

“Dean?” he asked tentatively.

“Mmyeah?” Dean looked up from his phone, where he was lecturing Sam on the perils of teaching Cas how to do the puppy dog eyes.

“I- I find that when I attempt to sleep I am overcome by memories of being back in that cave. Could you, perhaps, assist me?” All Dean could see of Cas was a tuft of dark hair poking out from under the covers. He was vulnerable and unhappy, and Dean loved him so much it  _ hurt _ .

“Sure. What do you need?”

Cas’ voice was small, hesitant. Like he was expecting Dean to say no. “Would you- would you hold me?”

Well, that was just what he needed. Adorable, sleepy Cas all cuddled up next to him in a totally platonic way, tugging at Dean’s heartstrings. “Yeah, Cas,” he said hoarsely, forcing himself to try to sound casual. “I can do that.”

And he crawled into bed, pulling Cas back so that Dean was the big spoon, flung one arm securely over the other man, and hummed softly until Cas dropped into a deep sleep.

***

Dean woke up feeling like he was in bed next to a radiator. “Cas,” he murmured.

Cas made a sleepy snuffling noise next to him.

Dean reached up to feel Cas’ forehead. “Damn,” he whispered to himself. Then, louder, “Cas, baby, wake up, You’re running a fever.”

One baleful blue eye cracked open. “Did you just call me baby?”

Well. “Oops?” he tried. Then he decided that deflection was probably the best strategy. “Anyway, you need to drink some water and I’m gonna run out and get you some soup, yeah?”

“Cas made a vaguely agreeable grumbling sound. “Okay, baby.”

Dean may or may not have squeaked.

“You’re mine now,” Cas informed him from the bed. “Deal with it. Also, I want tomato basil soup."

**Author's Note:**

> Buffalo River and Skull Rock are both real places. Under Skull Rock is creepy as HECK, and there definitely USED to be a beaver under there. Just sayin'.


End file.
